<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>fistfights (and other ways to say i love you) by enonymous</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105684">fistfights (and other ways to say i love you)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/enonymous/pseuds/enonymous'>enonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream Team RPF, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Crushes, Flirting, Fluff, Flustered Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Miscommunication, george's overwhelming scorpio energies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:41:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105684</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/enonymous/pseuds/enonymous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dream keeps getting into fights. George keeps patching him up. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this, and surprisingly, it's not just teenage hormones.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound &amp; Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>800</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>fistfights (and other ways to say i love you)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"George?" Sapnap pokes his head into the classroom, just as George has finished stacking his textbooks into a neat pile. The senior waves at his friend in greeting. "Hey. Your boyfriend got into another fight."</p><p>George presses a hand to his head as giggles ripple through the few lingering students; this conversation feels far too familiar. "He's not my boyfriend," he sighs, and Sapnap pointedly pretends not to hear him. George shoves his books into his backpack, hefting it over his shoulder with a groan. "Whatever. Where is he?" </p><p>"Down by the gym," Sapnap says, leaning against the doorframe to let George sweep past him. "Go get-em, tiger," he adds, swiping a hand after George, fingers curled into claws.</p><p>"Shut up," George calls over his shoulder, face burning. </p><p>Sapnap just blows him a kiss.</p><p>The halls are filled with students, lunchtime clamour loud in George's ears as he makes his way towards the gym. The crowd only gets thicker as he approaches, the din condensing into a rhythmic chant the closer he gets, pushing past students heading both towards and away from the center. He starts veritably shoving as the words become clear: <em>Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!</em></p><p>Under the drumbeat chanting he can hear other voices, wordless jeers and yells, egging them on; even quieter he can hear the sound of heavy breathing, a grunt of pain, a curse. <em>Dream</em>.</p><p>He shoves past the last few people and stumbles out of the crowd, into the misshapen ring they've formed, just as the telltale holler of a teacher down the hall sounds out over the noise. Dream has his fist clenched in the shirt of his opponent, someone George distantly registers as another senior; his own white t-shirt is torn at the collar and speckled with blood, dripping in a steady trickle from his nose. He has his other hand reeled back in a fist, and George's breath pauses in the split second before the punch lands.</p><p>"Dream!" George shouts over the answering wave of cheers, brain finally kicking in, and grabs Dream's arm just as he pulls his fist back again for another hit. The other senior is getting tugged away by one of their own friends, and George focuses on bodily hauling Dream backwards as well; he's spitting some mangled approximation of an insult at the other senior, but allows himself to be dragged as the teacher's voice shouts again, closer. George pulls at his arm, insistent, and Dream finally turns to follow him as George pushes back through the crowd, knocking someone over in the process. He doesn't bother to apologize, just focuses on his beeline to the nearest washroom with Dream in tow.</p><p>The stalls are all blessedly empty, the sole row of fluorescent bulbs on the ceiling bathing the blue tiled walls in sharp light. George yanks the door until it comes off of its magnetic doorstop and swings closed, locking it for good measure. The sound echoes, and with Dream's arm still in a vice grip, George marches them both towards the mirrors. The other student is surprisingly docile as he lets George crowd him up against a sink, leaning on it while he catches his breath; his eyes are still wild with adrenaline, but they're fixed on George as he silently opens his bookbag and digs out the small first-aid kit he's taken to carrying around in these past few months. Save for whatever's happening outside and Dream's breathing, slowly evening out, they're quiet; George doesn't speak until he's handed Dream a cotton swab for his bloody nose and started swiping at the drying blood on Dream's chin with another.</p><p>“You’re so annoying,” he mutters, feeling Dream exhale a sigh that ruffles his hair. This close, he can pick out the smattering of freckles across Dream’s skin, the faint silvery scar on his chin from a childhood incident. Dream's bottom lip is puffy, marred with a split that seeps another bead of blood as soon as George wipes up the previous, his teeth gleaming white behind the flesh; Dream licks his lip, catching the dark droplet, and George looks away, dropping the wet cotton swab onto the porcelain rim of the sink next to him.</p><p>He steps out of Dream's space to rifle through his first aid kit again, taking a deep breath that doesn't smell of Dream's shampoo and detergent. He can hear his own heartbeat, louder than the background din of students milling about, the hum of electricity; Dream shuffles his feet, rubble soles squeaking against the tile.</p><p>"Give me your hand," George instructs, turning back around, only to bump directly into Dream; Dream obediently sets his right hand in George's outstretched palm without hesitation, hissing when the alcohol wipe meets the torn skin of his knuckles. George ducks his head, ignoring how Dream now has him wedged against the sinks, and forces himself to focus; he cleans out the wounds with gentle swipes, scrubbing at the blood dried in the edges of Dream's nails absently. Turns his thoughts over in his head.</p><p>"You've been getting into a lot of fights recently," he finally says to Dream's hand, watching as his fingers twitch at the sting of alcohol. "Why?"</p><p>Dream laughs, the sound awkward and uncertain, resonant against the walls. He shifts his weight. "It's- does there have to be a reason?"</p><p>George, petulantly, pinches the skin on the back of his hand and scowls up at him. </p><p>"This isn't you," he says insistently, watching as Dream averts his eyes. "What's going on?" </p><p>He scuffs his feet against the tile again, and George blows out a sigh, frustration rising. "<em>Dream</em>," he says, more forcefully, mouth pressed into a thin line, and Dream finally cracks.</p><p>"It's 'cause you said it was hot," he blurts a bit too loudly, meeting George's eyes, and then immediately blushes furiously. George reels back a little, startled, as the tension drains from him.</p><p>"I- what?" he manages, and Dream's head makes a valiant effort to retract into his body, entire face a deep shade of pink. He's pouting. It's terribly cute.</p><p>"You <em>said</em> it was hot," he mutters again defensively, and then, "One of the linebackers on the other team hit me after our first game and I hit him back and we started fighting and when you were patching me up you said I looked hot. So."</p><p>The memory surfaces: Dream, propped up on the trunk of his car, the white lights in the parking lot stark against his skin. His cheek was already swelling, and George could see the darkening beginnings of a black eye just under the shadows cast by his eyelashes; still, though, Dream was grinning triumphantly as George wrapped a frozen water bottle in one of Dream's spare shirts to use as an ice pack, chastising him the entire time. Dream had shrugged his letterman jacket on, wincing as he prodded the line of his jaw, and asked George, teasingly- "How bad is it?"</p><p>George had grinned back at him as he smacked a bandaid onto Dream's cheek, ignoring his pained yelp. "You look hot," he'd said, mostly joking, partially not. Dream's grin had widened as George snickered at himself. "Real bad-boy material, Dreamy." A bruised cheek, a bloody nose; the déja vu hits George with more force than he thought possible.</p><p>“... You remembered that?” George asks, bewildered, and then, the realization dawning on him, “Wait, <em>that’s</em> why you’ve been throwing hands with everyone that looks at you wrong?”</p><p>“Well, it sounds stupid if you put it like that,” Dream mumbles. George lets out a laugh, tinged with disbelief and fondness, and Dream pulls away, an embarrassed scowl pulling at his lips. George, made daring by his new knowledge, chases after him, leaning back into his space until they're almost chest to chest.</p><p>“It <em>is</em> stupid,” he says, watching the blush Dream is sporting creep steadily up his ears. "Getting into fights to show off for your crush? Very mature of you, Dreamy." </p><p>Dream's scowl- and blush- deepen. This close, with not much more than an inch between them, he can hear the way Dream's breath hitches. George smiles.</p><p>"George," Dream rasps, and George just hums, fingers walking up his chest until they rest just over Dream's heart, thrumming rabbit-fast under his warm skin. For a moment, they stand there, the air completely still-</p><p>The bell rings. </p><p>George fiddles with the ripped collar of Dream's shirt, then taps his fingers against his cheek, gently. "You're hot," he says sweetly. "Stop bruising up your pretty face for my sake, won't you?"</p><p>Dream lets out a strangled noise, and George whirls away to pack his first aid kit back into his bookbag, a self-satisfied skip in his step. Dream is still standing in front of the sinks, dazed, by the time George has pulled the bathroom door open, staring after him with wide eyes. George grins at him.</p><p>"See you in class," George waves, and joins the stream of students, heart singing in his chest.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>how do i even explain this fic?? i don't think i can tbh. it's highschool, flirting, and idiocy, please just take it 💜</p><p>find me on twitter @enon_ymous, and on tumblr @enonymous! tysm for reading, leave me a comment to make my day? :]</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>